


Yellow-Eyed Demon

by thenorthface



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, M/M, Prophetic Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenorthface/pseuds/thenorthface
Summary: Alec is absolutely certain he hasn’t moved. He’s still seated at his desk, catching his breath; still has the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. Despite knowing that, being fully aware of his body’s position the way he’s been trained to do his entire life, somehow he opens his eyes to find himself lying down in a dark room.There’s a man in his arms. With every exhale, Alec’s breath ruffles someone else’s hair.





	Yellow-Eyed Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Title is an homage to Supernatural, because I've always wanted to play off Sam's visions and the way they affected him on the show

 

_“Before Clary got here, every day was the same: Go on a mission. Kill demons. Go on a mission. Kill demons. At least now things are interesting.”_

_-Isabelle Lightwood_

 

***

 

The first time one of the visions hits, Alec is alone in his room, sitting at his desk and reading over a report one final time before he submits it to the Clave. One moment he’s leaning forward, fingers poised to add to his description of a suspected demon summoning, and the next, he collapses to his elbows, holding his face in his hands while he _screams._

 

Throughout the years, he’s lost track of all the injuries he’s received. Alec’s been stabbed with his own seraph blade, he’s been raked by werewolf claws, he’s broken bones falling off buildings, and he’s had demon poison coursing through his veins. As far as he can remember, nothing’s ever hurt like this—a searing pain that makes him close his eyes while everything turns violently red, then black. He gasps, fingers digging into his brow. His head feels like it’s going to split in two.

 

His elbow slides against the wood, suddenly slick with sweat, and he falls onto a forearm, hearing the echo of his own yells off the walls. There’s a small part of him still lucid enough to be grateful that this is happening in the security of his room, behind locked doors. If he were on a mission right now, in a fight, he’d already be dead.

 

Abruptly, like throwing a wet blanket over a raging fire, the pain is gone, smothered away in an instant. Alec is absolutely certain he hasn’t moved. He’s still seated at his desk, catching his breath; still has the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes, fighting off the aftershocks. Despite knowing that, being fully aware of his body’s position the way he’s been trained to do his entire life, somehow he opens his eyes to find himself lying down in a dark room.

 

There’s nothing to see. It doesn’t matter whether his eyes are open or closed because it’s pitch black in the room, lacking the faint light his bedroom always has coming in through the crack from the hall. He feels peaceful in a way that’s totally unfamiliar to him, like he’s someone else whose head is clear, heartbeat steady. The crushing mix of fear and anxiety that normally follows him around-- that pressure to be perfect, the certainty that a single mistake will be the end of someone he loves-- is gone. The only time he feels anything like this is when he’s poised with a bow on the roof, string taut, arrow notched, body and mind one with the weapon.

 

There’s a man in his arms. With every exhale, Alec’s breath ruffles someone else’s hair. Alec has one arm and one leg slung over another man’s body, someone close to his height and _strong_ , judging by the flex of muscles under his palms. Curled on one side, cheek cushioned by a pillow that’s noticeably softer than the one on his own bed, he feels a sense of relief he wouldn’t have believed was possible if he wasn’t experiencing it first-hand. This room holds something fragile and beautiful, something he never wants to break.

 

The only person he’s ever shared a bed with in his life is Isabelle, when they were a lot younger, and their parents were in Idris, too far away to catch them at it and warn them of the dangers of needing each other too much, needing anyone, in their line of work. Those nights, she’d playfully kick him and pull at the blankets, trying to get him to laugh. When they finally went to sleep, they did so facing opposite sides of the room.

 

By the time his family adopted Jace, Alec had grown too committed to looking responsible, too determined to be taken seriously to admit he’d enjoy doing something as childish as having a sleepover. Besides, it might have killed him in his teenage years, sharing a bed with Jace, wanting everything he did so badly.

 

The nights with Isabelle hadn’t been _anything_ like this. Alec has never believed he’ll get to have a partner at all, at least not a man, let alone someone he could let his guard down around like this. Getting a taste of what it could be like being with someone who makes him feel so at peace, if only for these few moments, is devastating. It’s heaven and hell: the torment of his nightly demons at war with a sense of love so comforting it almost seems angelic.

 

His partner shifts, murmuring restlessly in their sleep. Alec’s arms tighten instinctively, holding the other man close until their breathing settles again. It makes Alec feel proud. Useful.

 

The intimacy of the scene hits him hard, spreading through his chest, then his limbs, like a venom steadily paralyzing him. In the moment, there’s nothing he wouldn’t give up-- his stele or his marks-- to never have to spend another night lying alone in his bed, unable to sleep, feeling a vice around his lungs.

 

That’s when the world lurches, a terrible, gut-wrenching shift, and he opens his eyes to the familiar wood paneling of his bedroom. It looks exactly the same as it always has-- small, simple, and sparsely decorated, yet still somehow _his--_ but he feels irreversibly changed.

 

His next breath hitches. The one after that collapses. Soon, he’s fully in the midst of a panic attack, fighting to breathe like a fish forcibly thrown out of water.

 

_What the hell had that been?_

 

**

 

The next morning at breakfast he’s quiet, still trying to process what he’d seen the night before. Jace and Isabelle talk animatedly beside him while he pushes food around his plate, staring at gray eggs that look even less palatable than usual. There’s some news out of Idris, a new Shadowhunter who turned up out of the blue on her eighteenth birthday, but Alec is barely following the thread of the conversation. He’s still stuck trying to figure out what it was he’d seen last night, concerned about the possibility that he might be losing his mind. He’s only hallucinated before when he was delirious, blood infected, on the verge of passing out. Those times, he saw shadows that weren’t actually there-- blurs of motion that were all in his head.

 

This had been different, more like a waking dream than anything else he’s ever experienced. Except unlike a dream, he can remember every moment, can recall exactly how he’d felt, lying in bed, counting his breaths in time to someone else’s. Nothing has been made fragmented by the shift to wakefulness, because he’s certain he’d never fallen asleep to begin with.

 

The closest thing he’s studied to what he’d experienced are the premonitions reported by some of the Clave’s warlock allies in the months before Valentine’s uprising. But he hadn’t seen war or death, or anything important. He’d seen himself _in bed, s_ leeping with another man, something he’d never dare report to the Clave.

 

“Alec,” Jace says. He looks impatient, already standing beside the table, tray in hand. “You ready to go?”

 

Alec startles. He’s cleared maybe half his plate, if that, but they have a briefing to get to, and his mother won’t hesitate to give any of them a tongue-lashing in front of the entire Institute if they’re late. “Yeah,” he says, rising to his feet.

 

Isabelle hip-checks him on their way out of the cafeteria. “You okay big bro?” she asks, too softly for Jace to hear.

 

“I’m fine,” Alec says, avoiding her gaze.

 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” she says. “Girl trouble?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. It’s clear how unlikely she thinks that particular scenario is.

 

If Alec tells her anything about what happened to him yesterday, she’s dragging him to the first available healer she can find. Soon enough, half the Shadowhunters they know will have heard Alec’s been having _special dreams,_ and he’ll have to pray that’s all they hear.

 

“No,” he says flatly.

 

“ _Boy_ trouble?” she asks, in that uncanny way of hers, like she knows exactly how close she’s hitting to home.

 

“ _No,_ ” Alec repeats, with more force.

 

After three more steps, the hallway opens to the central stairs where Maryse’s already standing in front of a crowd, hands linked behind her back, looking stern and imposing. They both go silent.

 

**

 

When the second vision comes, Alec is alone again, thirty minutes into a rigorous boxing session. This time it takes longer for him to become aware of the throb in his head. The sensation is drowned out by the numbness in his hands and the jolts that go up his arms whenever he hits too hard. There’s a stitch in his side that’s almost as acute as the initial headache. By the time the pain becomes sharp enough, it drops him to his knees on the mat. He futilely clutches at his head as wave after wave of agony hits.

 

The scene opens with a golden shimmer in the corner of his eye-- the sheen of a portal. Magic lingers, humming in the air. Alec (another Alec, one who isn’t listing sideways into a punching bag, sweat curling around his wrist) steps through to an unfamiliar city. It’s beautiful, European, he thinks, based on the style of the architecture, but he can’t say it’s one he recognizes. There’s an imposing gate rising over them, featuring six columns towering above the street, mounted by an iron chariot with horses that seem poised to step off the marble and take flight at any moment.

 

“Where did you take me?” he hears other-Alec ask as he takes another step forward to drink in the sight of the city spread out before him, monuments starting to glow in the light of the setting sun. His voice is almost unrecognizable, light and happy in a way Alec’s never heard himself sound before, completely unguarded.

 

“Berlin,” a man says behind him, resting a hand in the small of Alec’s back. The touch burns against Alec’s skin despite the layer of fabric lying between the man’s palm and bare skin. “The _Unter den Linden._ I thought we’d do a few hours of the historical sites for you-- we know _I_ don’t need a refresher, nor particularly care to remember another mundane war, although I’m quite certain you’ll be riveted-- and then you’re coming to the theater with me.”

 

“The _theater,”_ other-Alec says, pretending to complain in a playful way that Alec’s only ever done with Isabelle. “ _Again?”_

 

“Yes, again,” the man says, with a smile in his voice. “You’ll have to find a way to cope, Alexander. I’ve picked out the loveliest little bar for us to try beforehand, too. You haven’t lived until you’ve had absinthe. The stuff will make your head spin.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like you want me to make it to the theater,” Alec says, deadpan.

 

The man laughs. It’s a bright, contagious sound. Alec thinks he would find himself smiling too, if this other Alec wasn’t already. Then, the man’s voice goes low. Promising. The warmth of his breath fans against the back of Alec’s neck, making him shiver. “I’d also settle for taking you back to the hotel after. Wagner isn’t going anywhere.”

 

All the blood in Alec’s body goes rushing south. Other-Alec’s body turns, gravitating to the man beside him. That Alec’s voice also drops, turning rougher. “What would you do with me there?” he asks.

 

Alec doesn’t get to find out. Before the man can respond, the scene dissolves with another sickening twist to his stomach. The training room comes into focus slowly. Stands of assorted weaponry are scattered across the long hall. The flickering candles placed on stands at regular intervals don’t cast enough light to reach the shadows at the highest parts of the vaulted ceilings. The ornate stained glass windows let in fragments of multicolored lights, playing against the walls. They show scenes of long-gone Shadowhunters, the earliest descendants of Jonathan Shadowhunter.

 

Several minutes pass before he’s able to move again. Then, he slumps further sideways, wrapping his arms around the comforting solidity of the bag and rests his sweaty forehead against it, breathing deeply. The wild staccato of his heart doesn’t show any sign of slowing.

 

 _Doesn’t sound like you want me to make it to the theater._ He can’t stop hearing his own voice playing on a loop. His other self had sounded so _happy,_ planning a night out with that mysterious man. They’d been flirting. Alec can still feel the lingering warmth of a blush across his cheeks. When was the last time he took a night off and just had fun? He can’t remember. His life has never been theater trips and sightseeing; not fleeting touches to the small of his back paired with verbal caresses.

 

There’s no doubting how much he cares for Isabelle, Jace and Max. He _loves_ them, grew up with them, trusts them uniquely. But none of them make him feel like he’d felt in both of the two scenes he’s been shown so far-- like the weight of the world has been taken off him, and he’s allowed to let his guard down long enough to enjoy himself for a few minutes. Sometimes when he’s around them, he actually feels even more anxious, constantly aware that he’s been charged to protect them. He thinks... he thinks the other-Alec might be in love with that man.

 

Sometimes, in the darkest part of the night, when he’s exhausted and sore from wounds too deep to heal with an iratze, he imagines getting to have a future like that with someone one day-- about the possibility of loving a man who so obviously loves him in return. Laying in bed, he’ll imagine nebulous scenes: Kissing someone. Holding someone’s hand. Maybe the slow slide of a hand under a shirt.

 

That scene hadn’t been indistinct. It had felt so real, like it was his mouth making those sounds, his feet taking those steps, and his skin coming to life at the touch of a hand.

 

And that’s terrifying. There’s something _wrong_ with him. It’s like he’s so lonely that his brain is making these things up now, taunting him with what he’ll never get to have.

 

A voice jerks him from his thoughts before he can get too carried away and throw himself unwillingly into another fit of troubled breathing. “Lightwood, you alright over there?”

 

It’s Eustace, looking annoyed to be concerned. They’ve never gotten along particularly well. After a few too many “no homos” out of Eustace, Alec had caught himself going harder on him in drills, and losing his temper more rapidly around him. Despite being in the same training class most of their lives, there’d never been a good chance that they’d end up friends.

 

“I’m fine,” Alec says, struggling to rise to his feet.

 

Eustace doesn’t immediately move. He cocks his head, studying Alec. It gives Alec a sinking feeling. News of this is going to be all over the Institute tomorrow-- how Alec Lightwood couldn’t handle a simple round of training, and pushed himself to the verge of collapse, most likely. Something like that.

 

“I’m good,” Alec says, with more force. When he finally makes it to his feet, he quickly starts hitting the bag again, trying to prove exactly how fine he is.

 

No matter how hard he throws his punches, he can’t stop thinking about that man, laughing and talking about absinthe. His knuckles are bleeding by the end and he still can’t shake the burst of heat he’d felt, experiencing the warmth of someone else’s breath against his skin.

 

**

 

During a routine patrol with Jace, Alec hears a scuttling noise, like pinchers _tap-tap-tapping_ against brick, and they give chase, sprinting down a narrow alleyway with nothing besides a single flickering fluorescent bulb to illuminate their targets. One Shax demon turns out to be six (one day they’ll learn those things breed like fucking rabbits) and soon they’re in the midst of a heated battle, fighting several yards away from each other, each of them outnumbered three-to-one. At such close quarters Alec can’t use his bow, but he has a blade in his thigh holster, and he does his best with that, taking out the first two in quick succession.

 

He’s studying the last of them, watching the scaly creature circling him until it’s the right time for him to strike, when a familiar pressure starts mounting in his head, and panic, _real_ panic, sets in. _Not here. Not now._ This time he resists the tug as hard as he can, ignoring the pain and trying to stay in the present, where there’s a substantial threat to his life in front of him, waiting for a moment of weakness to lunge for him. The harder he fights, the worse the headache gets.

 

Whatever the magic is, though, it’s powerful. He’s able to delay for a minute or so, but that’s all he manages before the alley and the _demon_ go spiraling away. Even his fear doesn’t follow him.

 

It isn’t a happy scene that he’s thrust into. Other-Alec’s blood is boiling, he’s spitting mad, angrier than Alec thinks he’s ever been.

 

 _How could you?_ he keeps thinking, over and over. He’s been betrayed by the person he trusted most. It’s unforgivable.

The room he’s standing in is large and open, with high ceilings and floor to ceiling windows draped in long curtains. There are things everywhere, books and mysterious jars on every shelf and statues decorating every other available surface. The decorations range from cheetah print to glimmering chandeliers, and everything in between. Other-Alec barely spares the apartment a glance. He has one arm outstretched, veins bulging as he points furiously at the man standing in front of him. “If you _ever_ do something like that again,” he snaps, every word short, clipped. “We’re done. Magnus, don’t you ever use your magic on me like that again.”

 

It’s the first time Alec’s ever gotten to see his mysterious partner. The man is standing tall, head held high while Alec shouts at him. He has brown skin and dark eyes rimmed with liner, coated more darkly than even Isabelle wears it. His clothes are finer than Alec’s ceremonial suits, jacket made of a supple leather dyed a light color, a cross between blue and green. He’s so beautiful it makes Alec feel weak at the knees.

 

Magnus-- that’s his name, _Magnus--_ doesn’t shout back. His eyes are big. He looks like he thinks he deserves what he’s getting, even if it doesn’t look like he regrets whatever it was he did. “Alexander,” he says gently. “You could’ve died if you’d gone through that door. The wards on that room—“

 

“That doesn’t matter!” other-Alec shouts. “Shadowhunters aren’t supposed to be afraid of dying. Shadowhunters never retreat. If the Clave found out about this, I could be _deruned._ I could be another Tobias Herondale. _”_ He practically spits the name.

 

Every Shadowhunter child is taught that cowardice is the greatest of all sins. That’s the horror story he’d been told every single day growing up: the Shadowhunter who turned tail and ran in the face of danger, leaving five of his peers to be slaughtered.

“At least then you’d still be _alive_ ,” Magnus says, showing a flash of emotion for the first time. A glimmer of gold passes over his eyes. For a moment they look distorted, almosted slitted.

 

“That’s not your choice to make!” other-Alec yells. His hands are clenched at his sides.

 

“I’m not going to sit back and watch you sacrifice yourself for the damn Clave,” Magnus says, voice rising steadily. “I’ve lost enough to them already. I’m not losing you too.”

 

“I meant what I said,” Alec says, voice as cold as the steel of the Soul Sword. “Do it again, we’re over.”

 

Magnus still looks stricken as Alec turns on his heel and storms out of the room.

 

**

 

The fight, the anger, and the loud slap of Alec’s shoes on the stairs go spinning away but the world stays loud and blurred. His vision is a mess of different colors and indistinct shapes moving.

 

“Alec!” someone shouts, sounding panicked. Distantly, Alec recognizes the voice. It’s Jace. “Stay away from him,” Jace says viciously.

 

Something hisses near him, only a foot or so away, then screeches a moment later, an ungodly sound, before it dissolves with a buzzing sound into ash. Flakes of it fall, coating his face.

 

Moments later, there’s a gentle hand on his arm, followed by the pressure of fingers tipping his head forward to inspect something wet against the mat of his hair.

 

“ _Ouch_ ,” Jace says.

 

“What’s?” Alec tries. The words don’t come easily. There’s something heavy about his tongue. When he thinks about what he wants to say, he can’t get his mouth to form the words.

 

Cold metal presses into his arm. It burns for only a second before the iratze kicks in. Like diving into a deep mountain lake on a hot summer day, the relief washes over him as the sticky wound at the back of his head begins knitting itself back together. Soon after, Alec can see Jace, whole face scrunched with worry, multi-colored eyes locked on him. Awareness of his surroundings grows: he’s propped against a brick wall in a grimy alley.

 

“Thanks,” he rasps, sitting up more with Jace’s help.

 

“You’re welcome,” Jace says, still sounding stunned. “ _By the angel,_ I thought that demon had you. When you went down screaming...” he trails off with a unsteady breath, shaking his head.

 

“Not quite,” Alec says, although his mind is reeling. He’d been totally helpless back there, seeing a different place and time, another _life._ There’d been nothing but Jace to stop that demon from getting him. If that happened again…

 

It _can’t_ happen again.

 

Maybe it won’t happen again. The argument he’d seen had felt like something final. If he’d been in that other Alec’s shoes and someone had forcibly held him back from a fight, he’d never forgive them. How could he ever be with someone who didn’t understand the pressure of his family name, or the constant weight of his responsibilities?

 

Even if his other self had been able to forgive Magnus, that had been Alec at his worst. He’d gone off, been spitting mad, threatening Magnus. Why would Magnus want anything to do with him after that?

 

He can’t make any sense of how he feels about the thought of never seeing Magnus again-- his other self never seeing Magnus again. He feels a conflicting rush of emotions: Relief. Sadness. Sadness for _both_ of them. Anger. Like he’s already missing something that wasn’t his in the first place.

 

Jace claps him on the arm, pulling him simultaneously to his feet and out of his thoughts. “C’mon bud,” Jace says. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

When Alec’s legs buckle, Jace keeps a firm hold on his arm, taking most of Alec’s weight as they stagger towards the main street.

 

“All good?” Jace asks, glancing down at him after a few steps.

 

“Yeah,” Alec says, around a lump in his throat.

 

“What happened back there? That demon get the jump on you?”

 

“Guess so,” Alec says. He grimaces, thinking about how _helpless_ he’d been.

 

Jace claps him heartily on the back, misinterpreting the face. “Don’t worry bud. I’ll kick your ass in the training room a few times. We’ll get you back to speed.”

 

Alec laughs weakly. “Thanks,” he says.

 

**

 

There’s an unearthly kind of calm about the Institute in the earliest hours of the morning. Everyone who’d been out on missions for the night has returned and retired to their quarters to catch as much sleep as they can before the day begins anew. Throughout the Institute, only a stalwart few remain awake to study heat maps for demon activity and monitor phone lines for cries of distress from the Downworld.

 

Hours after his own mission with Jace, Alec is still hopped up on adrenaline from both fights, the Shaks demons and the argument, wired and unable to sleep. He slips unnoticed into the War Room, igniting a dormant touchscreen with the stroke of his fingertips. The only light around him is the glow of the monitor he’s using. Everything else is dark and quiet. The sound of every move he makes, whether it’s the rustle of clothing or the touch of the soles of his shoes to the floor, is magnified in the hush of inactivity.

 

It’s so easy to open the Warlock Codex. Three clicks and he’s in, seeing dozens of pages of results. He finds the warlock he’s looking for quickly, high on the second page of results. _Magnus Bane,_ the screen says, under an unmistakable photo. It’s impossible but it’s also undeniable: Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, is _his_ Magnus Bane, the warlock who’d portaled them to Germany on a whim for a date, and apparently had cast a spell on Alec that may have saved his life.

 

Magnus lives in _New York._ He’s only a subway ride away. There’s a chance their paths might have eventually crossed for work. Something about the visions was _real,_ and Alec has no idea what that means for him.

 

Wonderingly, he raises a hand to the screen, brushing a finger against the side of Magnus’s cheek. Inadvertently, the touch opens a larger album of photos. He scrolls through a catalogue of Magnus’s life, fascinated by every bit of insight into Magnus’s personality: Magnus, sitting on a counter at a bar, surrounded by admirers; Magnus standing by the ocean, beaming with an Iguana perched on his shoulder; Magnus with beautiful men and women alike. In each picture, there’s a light in Magnus’s eyes that’s captivating. The same way he’d felt in Berlin, seeing Magnus’s smile brings a smile to Alec’s own face.

 

Alec goes through the album three times, and then reads the files notes too, greedy to learn everything he can. Only when the faint light of the rising sun starts coming in from outside the cathedral, and he begins to hear the faint murmur of activity from upstairs in the living quarters, does he finally tear his gaze away, shutting down the screen and retiring to his room to catch an hour of rest.

 

**

 

“You’ve been acting different lately,” Isabelle says, pacing around him, hair in a loose ponytail. She sounds both worried and annoyed about it. The arc of her staff comes with more force than usual, which is how Alec knows it’s mostly the latter.

 

“How so?” Alec asks. His staff is lowered to his side for the moment while he awaits her next move, although he hasn’t relaxed. He’s still on guard, ready to deflect at any moment. They’re both sweating. She’s been putting him through the paces for nearly an hour.

 

“You’re distracted,” she says, and he barely manages to block the blow she aims at his side. “Staring off into space.” He sidesteps a strike that would have caught him right across the bicep. “Quiet.”

 

This time, Alec catches her staff with his free hand, and holds it, giving himself a moment to catch his breath.

 

“Whatever it is,” Isabelle says, stopping for breaths in between most words. “You can talk to me. You know that.”

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Alec says. Whether or not Magnus exists, they’re done. It’s been three days since his last vision. He got to see two devastatingly happy moments, and then that terrible fight, and that was all. They’re over, exactly like his other self had promised. For some reason, he’d gotten this chance to torture himself with the promise of a happy future, one he’d known he’d never get to have anyway, no matter how much he wanted it, and then he’d lost it as quickly as it had come. There’s no reason to miss the man with a pretty smile and untold depths to his gaze that he’d barely had to chance to know.

 

“You’re lying,” Isabelle says.

 

In seconds, she’s freed her staff from his hands and ducked low, taking his feet out from under him. He falls backwards and hits the ground hard, feeling his teeth clack together.

 

For longer than he usually would, he stays on his back, increasingly aware of his rising headache, so closely tied with the impact against the mat that he’d think it was a side effect of the takedown, if he didn’t already know better by now. The way his head is throbbing… it can only mean one thing.

 

Isabelle taps him on the shoulder with the butt of his staff. “Get up _perezoso_ ,” she says. “C’mon, one more round.”

 

That’s when Alec starts screaming.

 

**

 

Standing at a stove, he carefully ladles a spoonful of batter onto a flat pan that’s radiating heat.

 

“I’m huungry,” a girl’s voice complains. His back is to her, so he can’t see her, but she sounds young.

 

“Pancakes will be ready soon, sweetheart,” the other-Alec says, reaching into a bowl beside the burners so he can drop several plump blueberries into the batter as it starts to bubble.

 

“How soon?” the girl asks.

 

“Now, now,” says the voice Alec has come to recognize, the one he associates with Magnus. “Patience, my little fry. Your dad is cooking as quickly as he can.”

 

A chair scrapes against the floor, followed by a shriek of laughter.

 

 _Your dad?_ There’s a stab of longing in Alec’s chest so fierce that it knocks the breath out of him. If it were his hands carefully sliding the spatula against the griddle, he’d have jerked his wrist by now, making a mess.

 

Other-Alec smoothly flips the sequence of three pancakes before turning around.

 

“Just a couple more minutes,” he says, smiling at the scene in front of him.

 

Magnus is standing framed against the white-trimmed windows of an alcove, backlit by the bright rays of sunshine streaming in. He’s bare-chested, wearing a silk robe tied in a loose knot midway down his abdomen. A girl with dark skin and big brown eyes is clinging to him, both arms wrapped around Magnus’s neck. The bright light shows the twin sets of gills cut into her neck. She’s a warlock child.

 

She’s kept upright by Magnus’s strong arm curled around her lower back. They both look beautiful in the early morning sun, but in wholly different ways-- Magnus radiant with happiness and the little girl, smiling sweetly at him.

 

“Good, I want to eat,” the girl says and Magnus throws his head back laughing, eyes crinkling.

 

The swell of love Alec feels for them transcends time, transcends distance. He loves them both fiercely, beyond measure. They feel like his family. Even his counterpart, who gets to live this life each and every day, melts a little, noticeable in the way the line of his spine softens.

 

**

 

When he returns to consciousness-- or whatever he should call this world, the one where he doesn’t have some magical boyfriend, and he’s undeniably alone-- he’s lying on the ground, cradled in Isabelle’s arms. She’s frantically muttering to herself, applying iratze after iratze, not knowing that there isn’t a physical wound to heal.

 

“Iz,” he says hoarsely, trying to knock her hand away.

 

She startles, grip going slack for a moment when she realizes he’s awake. “Alec!” she says, throwing her arms around him. “You’re alright!”

 

“I’m fine,” Alec says, starting to sit up. Like every time before, the initial pain has faded as quickly as it had come. Now, all he’s left with are his racing thoughts. He’d seen Magnus again. That last vision hadn’t been the end. They have a _daughter_ together.

 

“What _was_ that?” Isabelle demands, looking panicked.

 

“I hit my head,” Alec says, feeling frustrated suddenly, like he wants to punch the mat beside him.

 

For as long as he can remember, he’s always wanted children. Every time he’s watched Max, he’s thought about having kids of his own. So many times that he’s walked past the Institute nursery, he’s found himself stopping, eyes catching on the small mounds of pink and blue blankets in the cribs.

 

Seeing himself with another man is one thing, torturous enough. Seeing the two of them with a _child_ is something else entirely, something he’s not sure that his heart is equipped to handle. It’s not fair, he thinks, that he’s seen everything he could ever want in life, it’s in his _grasp_ , but he can’t figure out how to keep it. Magnus isn’t _his._ He’s some other Alec’s, someone Alec may never get to be.

 

“You were shouting,” Isabelle says.

 

“It hurt,” Alec says.

 

It still does.

 

**

 

They set their trays down at the first open table they can find in the mess hall, each one loaded with a nearly identical spread of baked chicken, creamed spinach, sweet potato wedges, and a roll.

 

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” Jace is saying. “But it doesn’t _feel_ right. You know what I’m saying?”

 

“Too heavy?” Isabelle asks.

 

“Naw,” Jace says. “Just off.”

 

“Not responsive?” Isabelle says.

 

“Yeah. Something like that,” Jace agrees.

 

In a split second, Alec realizes what’s coming. He knows all the warning signs now: the sudden sensitivity to light; the pulsing in his head; the rapid crescendo of pain. He tries to stand, to get out of the mess hall, and avoid making an all too public spectacle of himself. By doing so, he inadvertently makes things worse. Two steps away from the table, the pounding of his head gets to be too much. His vision narrows and he falls into the back of the closest chair, holding his head with both hands, wishing desperately for it to end.

 

“Alec!” Isabelle says. Jace shouts. There’s the scrape of more than one chair as they move towards him.

 

His world shifts. Pain turns to bliss. His body is thrumming with pleasure, something a little like a massage, only magnified, made a hundred times better. It’s like the slick clench of his hand, only tighter. Hotter. The line between himself and other-Alec is harder to define than usual. He’s rolling his hips in slow, steady movements.

 

 _“Mmmm,”_ he hears his own voice, although it barely sounds anything like him, rough and deep. “Magnus, babe, this feels--”

 

Alec almosts bites through his tongue, more turned on than he can ever remember being in his life. This other him-- he’s having _sex._

“ _Yes,”_ Magnus says, gasping with a particularly hard thrust of Other-Alec’s hips. “Yes. _Alexander.”_

 

The strange vantage point starts to make sense: His fingertips are splayed on golden skin-- the unmarked expanse of someone’s back. He has one knee planted in the mattress and the other leg stretched long, knee to ankle with someone else’s. The straightened arm holding him off the mattress is starting to shake.

 

Other-Alec falls to an elbow, plastering his bare chest to Magnus’s back. He’s sweating, hot all over, both from the exchange of body heat and something else, too, the desire burning through him. Clumsily, he mouths at the place where skin meets damp hair, finding a place to press messy kisses.

 

“I’m close,” he warns, in a voice like he’s just run miles.

 

Magnus huffs. “Some stamina rune,” he says. He sounds so fucked out, it completely destroys the indignant tone he’d been feigning.

 

“Haven’t used that yet,” Other-Alec says, adding a scrape of teeth to the next kiss. He pauses before he thrusts. Without disentangling their bodies, he reaches for his stele on the nightstand, holding his arm at the awkward angle necessary to activate the rune. A new wave of energy courses through him. His next motion makes Magnus groan, low and guttural. “Try and keep up Magnus,” Other-Alec says, voice full of promise.

 

**

 

The scene spirals away, leaving Alec sitting on the floor of the cafeteria with a hard-on, a growing sense of mortification, and the eyes of every single person in the Institute on him.

 

Both Isabelle and Jace are leaning into his space. Isabelle has a hand on his shoulder, and Jace has one planted just above Alec’s knee. Alec jerks away from both of them, sliding backwards on the tiled floor, wishing desperately he was alone in his room.

 

“Back off,” he says, words mangled and hoarse.

 

“It sounded like you were dying,” Jace says, eyes huge. “Our rune.... It was...”

 

“I’m fine,” Alec snaps, directing all of his misplaced frustration at them. He tugs at the loose collar of his shirt, peeling the heavy fabric off sticky skin.

 

“You’re all flushed,” Isabelle says. “You look like you have a fever. Just let me--”

 

She tries to reach for him and he bats her hand away. “Iz,” he warns.

 

“What was that?” she demands. “That was the second time you’ve done that Alec! You’re scaring me. What’s happening to you?”

 

“ _Nothing,”_ Alec says. The scene is still so clear in his head. He can barely think about it without feeling like he’s being licked by flames, consumed by a fire that burns low in his gut. The warmth of Magnus’s skin under his hands is a phantom sensation that keeps lingering.

 

“Clearly not,” she argues, both hands on her hips. “Alec. If that happens to you in the field--”

 

“Happens again,” Jace interrupts, with dawning realization, and Isabelle looks horrified. “If it happens again, Alec, you could die.”

 

“ _Please_ Alec,” Isabelle begs. “You need to tell us what’s going on. We need to find someone to help you.”

 

They level him with matching stares, eyes huge and pleading. Alec bites his lip, looking to the floor so he doesn’t have to see. It scares him too, that this can happen to him anytime, that it incapacitates him completely, that it had knocked him off his feet in the midst of a battle with a demon.

 

But what scares him more-- what he could never tell them scares him-- is the thought that these hallucinations, visions, whatever they are, could go away. Even if they’re all in his head, even if he spends the rest of his life alone, the fragments of the life with Magnus that he gets to see are the happiest he’s ever been.

 

Each one is a glimpse at something he never dreamed he’d get to have. He savors them, returns to what he’s already seen countless times, reliving them endlessly. They might be figments of his imagination, nothing more, but now he _knows_ what it’s like to fall asleep in someone else’s arms. He knows how much he could love a child, if he ever got to have one. He’s _felt_ how incredible it can be when two bodies are joined together; how his strength can be a gift instead of a weapon.

 

With each scene, he falls a little more in love with Magnus’s smile. The last thing he wants to do is give that up.

 

“Alec,” Jace presses gently.

 

“I’ll go,” Alec says, feeling like he’s cleaving his own chest in two. “Whoever you want me to see, I’ll go.”

 

***

 

Seeing Magnus frozen in the midst of a laugh on a screen in the Institute hadn’t done anything to prepare Alec for the prospect of seeing Magnus in person, in arms reach, looking exactly as gorgeous as he has in every vision Alec’s been shown. From the moment the door swings open, it feels like there’s something in Alec’s throat, keeping him from drawing breath.

 

Isabelle had insisted on coming with him to this, no matter how many times Alec had protested. She’s standing slightly in front of Alec, being unnecessarily protective, so Magnus’s eyes fall to her first. That isn’t surprising. Everything about Isabelle, from her tight, low cut dress, to her long shiny hair, to her bright lipstick, is designed to attract attention. This is the first time Alec’s found himself resenting it slightly.

 

“Nephilim,” Magnus says coolly. Hearing his voice sends a shiver down Alec’s spine. He’s wearing a deep purple jacket that's covered with dozens of golden _fleurs-de-lis_. It shimmers every time the light hits. The whole effect is something colder, more impenetrable than the Magnus Alec knows, although Magnus doesn’t look any less beautiful for it. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

 

“My brother needs your help,” Isabelle says, fiercely determined. “He’s been…” she trails off. Alec had told her the bare minimum necessary to explain, but it’s still not easy to describe. “Sick,” she finishes.

 

“I’m no healer,” Magnus says, making no moves to open the door further. “You’d be better seeing Catarina Loss.”

 

“Not sick,” Isabelle corrects. “It’s something magical. I hear that’s what you’re best at.”

 

Magnus huffs. “Then you must have _heard_ my services don’t come cheap. What are you prepared to offer as pay--” Mid-sentence, his gaze flickers from Isabelle to Alec. The change in his demeanor is unmistakable. He breaks off, lips falling apart. With a wave, he motions for Isabelle to step aside so he can make his way to Alec. She does so with obvious reluctance, shooting Alec a look over her shoulder.

 

“ _Hello_ ,” Magnus says, voice like a purr. “I’m Magnus Bane. You must be the brother.” He holds out a hand, as if to shake.

 

Alec grasps Magnus’s hand with an inappropriate sense of familiarity. He finds himself brushing the pad of his thumb against the inside of Magnus’s wrist. For a moment, he honestly forgets his own name, distracted by how soft Magnus’s skin is.

 

“And you are?” Magnus prompts.

 

Alec’s knees are threatening to give out. He finds himself smiling, this ridiculous giddy kind of smile, unable to look away from the light colors splayed around Magnus’s pupils.

 

“Al-lec,” Alec stammers.

 

“Nice to meet you, Alec,” Magnus says, every word like a caress. Alec’s heard him use that voice before. It’s the same way Magnus had sounded in Berlin.

 

“And _I’m_ Isabelle.” Isabelle says, looking back and forth between them. Her attempts to sound sulky are ruined by how obviously delighted she is. She knows Alec. There’s no way she’s missed how he’s reacting to Magnus.

 

“Right,” Alec says. “We should-- inside.”

 

Magnus finally releases Alec’s hand, but only after shooting him a small, pleased smile that makes Alec’s chest clench. “The pretty boy has spoken,” he says. “Come in, Shadowhunters.”

 

**

 

The shelves stocked with potion ingredients. The endless rows of books. The eclectic mix of decorations. Alec’s seen it all before. This is exactly where his counterpart had been standing, so filled with anger at Magnus that Alec had flashes of residual fury for days after.

 

Magnus guides them to a sleek black sofa, as decorative as it is functional, barely cushioned. He takes a seat on a red chair across from them. There’s a shift from the moment he sits. He’s suddenly serious, eyes fixed on Alec in a way that’s more evaluating than appreciative.

 

“These headaches,” Magnus says, once he’s been briefed. “Is that all they’ve been?”

 

Alec can’t look at him to answer. Here, inside Magnus’s apartment, he feels suddenly shy. He can’t begin to figure out how to put into words how much Magnus had meant to him in those visions. Not while Magnus is sitting across from him, without an ounce of recognition on his face, and especially not while Isabelle is sitting knee-to-knee with him, watching him expectantly. He doesn’t want to try. Now that he has Magnus so close, Alec is terrified of doing anything to scare him away.

 

“No,” Alec says, to his knees. “I’ve been… seeing things too.”

 

“What kind of things?” Magnus asks. There’s a furrow in his brow that hadn’t been there before.

“Nothing,” Alec says, knee-jerk.

Magnus sounds gentle, patient with him the way Alec remembers from the visions. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth, Alec.”

 

The ‘Alec’ stings. The Magnus in the visions had called him ‘Alexander’. It’s another sharp reminder that to this Magnus, Alec is nothing more than a stranger.

 

There’s a long pause. “I’m with someone,” Alec finally says. His jaw is clenched so tightly he thinks he can feel his teeth grinding. _With you,_ he wants to say. “We’re together.”

Isabelle makes a muffled sound of surprise. He hadn’t told her that part.

 

“Hm,” Magnus says thoughtfully. “ _Someone_ you know?”

 

“No,” Alec lies, still not meeting Magnus’s eyes.

 

“What do you see yourself doing with this person?” Magnus asks.

 

It’s a logical question, one anyone would ask. Because it’s Magnus asking, though, with his voice like sin, Alec’s mind goes straight to his most recent vision. For a second, he’s overwhelmed with the memory of thrusting into Magnus, tasting sweat on Magnus’s skin when Alec mouthed at the delicate skin beneath his ear. His face goes violently hot.

 

“Cooking,” he says, scuffing the toe of a shoe against Magnus’s hardwood floor. “Travelling. Talking.”

 

“And it’s realistic?” Magnus asks.

 

“It feels like I’m there,” Alec says, swallowing.

 

“Hm,” Magnus repeats. Abruptly he stands, crossing the room. Alec barely has time to suck in a breath before Magnus has two hands on his face, tipping back his head. Their eyes lock and hold. Magnus’s palms are warm against Alec’s cheeks. Being the sole focus of Magnus’s attention is as overwhelming as it is addictive.

 

“Your pupils aren’t dilated,” Magnus murmurs. “I don’t think it’s a drug.”

 

“It’s not,” Alec says, suddenly breathless.

 

“Could be a love spell,” Magnus says thoughtfully. His smile turns wicked. “David Bowie was hit by a nasty one at a show in the 60’s. He was _very_ appreciative when I was able to remove it.”

 

“I haven’t taken anything,” Alec says, ignoring the comment.

 

“I believe you,” Magnus says, serious again. He nods at Alec. “Do you mind if I?”

 

“Do what you need to,” Alec says. He doesn’t care what it is as long as Magnus keeps touching him.

 

At the twin points where Magnus’s fingers are pressed to Alec’s temple, sparks ignite. The tendrils of Magnus’s magic are pleasantly warm, sinking through his skin, then spreading into his head. Alec’s stomach clenches as Magnus continues carefully probing with his magic. They’re still holding each other’s eyes and Alec can feel Magnus inside him. It’s as intimate as sex. He shivers.

 

As he stares, helpless to look away, Magnus’s pupils collapse, turning to a thin, dark line, before Magnus blinks and they’re abruptly whole again.

 

“You okay?” Alec whispers, fascinated.

 

Magnus clears his throat. “Fine.” His hands flex on Alec’s face, magic still pouring from them. “Are you?”

 

“Good,” Alec says, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says eventually, easing back the magic. He sounds frustrated, but Alec can tell that Magnus is frustrated with himself, not Alec. “I can’t find anything. There’s no trace of magic on you. I can give you an antidote, just in case it was a potion, but that could be dangerous, since we have no way to know if you’ve been given anything.”

 

“We’re not doing that,” Isabelle says, suddenly a little fierce.

 

Magnus sighs. “I imagined as much,” he says. “As much as I’d like to keep you both around, I’m afraid I’ve done all that I can.”

 

“Right,” Alec says. His stomach sinks. This is it. He glances down at the floor, then at the long drapes framing Magnus’s tall windows, and then to the spiral staircase in the corner, looking for an excuse to stay. “How much do we owe you?”

 

“Nothing,” Magnus says. He gives Alec a brilliant smile. “Consider this a favor,” he says. “Call on me when you are next in need of my services.”

 

Isabelle unsubtly elbows Alec in the side. It’s hard enough that Alec has to hide a wince. “I will,” he says, belatedly.

 

**

 

Alec doesn’t want to go. He does anyway, walking out on heavy legs with a sinking heart. They make it all the way down the stairs and into the building’s lobby before Alec stops, closing his eyes to steel himself. This shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is. He wants to be with Magnus. He needs to tell Magnus that.

Isabelle already has her hand on the door, is turning the handle to head outside towards the subway station, when she notices he isn’t following her. “Alec?” she asks, half turning.

 

“Iz,” he chokes out. It’s so hard to force air in and out of his lungs.

 

Her face shifts, going softer, filling with concern. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I need to go back,” Alec says.

 

“Did you think of something else?” Isabelle asks.

 

“No,” Alec says. He swallows. “No, I just… I need to see him.”

 

“ _Ohhhh,”_ Isabelle says, realization dawning. This time her expression shifts again, goes teasing, although it’s a gentler kind of teasing than he’s used to from her. “Alec!” she says, sounding delighted. “You like him.”

 

“I really do,” Alec says, half miserable with it.

 

Isabelle tugs at the front of his shirt encouragingly, wrinkling it in the process. “Then go get him, big bro,” she says.

 

**

 

The elevator is slow to arrive, stuck on the tenth floor, judging by the light above the doors, so Alec takes the stairs instead, bounding up them in groups of three at once. By the time he makes it to Magnus’s penthouse, he’s even more out of breath. He knocks clumsily on Magnus’s door, over-eager and too loud at first, then too quiet when he tries to hold back.

 

The door opens sooner than he would’ve expected. Standing on the other side, Magnus tries to hide an expression of surprise. “You came back,” Magnus says.

 

Alec manages a jerky nod.

 

“Did you need something else, Shadowhunter?”

 

Alec can hear his own heartbeat, pounding loud in his ears. He thinks he’s going to be sick, trying to work up the nerve to say this. The only thing that gets him through is the knowledge of what, exactly, he stands to lose if he doesn’t. The potential they could have together is written in stone for him. It’s not something he’s willing to give up, however terrified he might feel in this moment.

 

“It was you,” Alec blurts out, too fast, words overlapping. “I was seeing you.”

 

Magnus’s eyes go wide. “Me?” he repeats.

 

“We were together,” Alec says, and then grimaces at how stupid he sounds. He’s already said that. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, and then it’s like a dam is breaking, and the last of it comes out in a gush he couldn’t possibly hold back. “I _love_ you. We have a daughter together.”

 

“A daughter,” Magnus says, in a strange tone.

 

“She’s a warlock,” Alec says, before his mouth catches up to his brain, which has already noticed the way Magnus has gone still. Alec has a fairly good idea of how to read Magnus after these last few weeks, but he can’t make any sense of the expression on Magnus’s face. He raises a hand to the back of his head, scratching at the coarse hair there.

 

Seconds pass, and Magnus doesn’t look any happier to have heard Alec’s revelation.

 

“That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” Alec asks, shifting on his feet. Crazy is an understatement. Magnus must want Alec as far away from him as possible. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

 

His stomach is one giant pit of disappointment, embarrassment and longing. What had he been thinking, coming here? To this Magnus, he’s just one in what must be a long line of customers showing up at his door, unimportant and unrecognizable. Along the way, Alec had started to put weight into the things he was seeing. He was beginning to think the visions had to mean something, mean they _belonged_ together, particularly when there was a real, breathing, sparkling Magnus Bane living in his city, standing in front of him.

 

That had been stupid of him. This was why he’d never let himself think about anything like… this before he started seeing it playing out before his eyes. It was stupid to hope that he might ever get a life like the one he’d been seeing. His purpose in life had been determined a thousand years ago. He was meant to be selfless, always looking out for those who are weaker than himself, not fantasizing about sex and whirlwind travels and lazy morning breakfasts.

 

His chest _aches._ At some point, he’d started to want so badly for it to be possible-- for there to be a chance that one day someone was going to _touch_ him, to hold him and love him with a ferocious determination. Even seeing the possibility, believing it could be real, had eased the pang of loneliness that he never seemed to be able to shake. Now the sense of loss is magnified three-fold from if he’d never seen anything in the first place.

 

Before he can turn to go, Magnus catches him by both arms, holding Alec in place. His fingertips are firm against Alec’s biceps, digging into the muscles. When Alec glances down, mouth parted, shocked speechless, he can see an indentation left behind by the touch. Mid-beat, his heart stutters.

 

Magnus makes a strange sound, stifled but still audible, more undignified than anything Alec’s seen from him in person, or in those visions, but still ridiculously charming.

 

Alec tears his eyes away from the sight of Magnus’s strong hands, keeping him near, and looks up to Magnus’s face. Magnus’s beautiful dark eyes are bright, seeming simultaneously a hundred years away, thinking of something long past, and fully here, in the moment, locked on Alec.

 

“True dreams?” Magnus says faintly, mostly to himself. “It’s possible.”

 

“Magnus,” Alec says carefully, confused. “What--”

 

He doesn’t need to finish the question.

 

“Would you like to get a drink sometime?” Magnus asks. “Preferably soon. Maybe right now, so you don’t walk out of my apartment door again.”

 

‘I’d like that,” would be an appropriate response, something that demonstrates more restraint than Alec’s been showing so far this afternoon. Instead, weak with relief, he makes a choked off noise, then lunges forward, taking Magnus’s face to kiss him.

 

Alec had never gotten to see them kissing in his visions. He’d skipped that experience, seeing almost everything else, from chastely sleeping together, to being intimately connected, every inch of his naked skin touching Magnus. Now, as Magnus’s lips part beneath his, and Magnus’s arms slide around his waist, Alec’s glad to be fully present in the moment, experiencing every sensation as something new and special.

 

Kissing Magnus feels like the very first time he activated a rune. One touch brings his whole body thrumming to life, awakening dormant parts of him he hadn’t known existed. Magnus brushes a thumb over Alec’s jaw, coaxing him to open his mouth further, and the kiss deepens. Each brush of their lips together sends sparks racing down Alec’s spine, like Magnus is still giving off waves of magic.

 

By the time Magnus pulls back, Alec has a hand on his back, just shy of grabbing onto the swell beneath, and Magnus has both hands on Alec’s hips, thumbs moving unconconsciously in a way that’s a lot more distracting than it had been against Alec’s cheek.

 

“Drinks?” Magnus asks, slightly winded. He’s even more devastatingly good-looking with a pink, slick bottom lip, and half-lidded eyes. “Want take a break, get to know each other? After that, I have no complaints about kissing you some more, if you’re willing.”

 

Alec finds himself smiling. He can’t stop the beaming, crooked grin that’s bursting across his face. “I’d like a drink,” he says. “Then,” he shrugs. “Let’s see.”

 

He has a good feeling about it.


End file.
